… or, The Day I Went to the Gym. Capitals totally necessary.
It started this morning. Well, technically it started during Fresher’s week when various flatmates said they had bought gym membership and I decided I wanted arms useful for tasks such as a) picking things up and b) moving objects, so I got Gold membership, i.e. you can go whenever you like and do whatever classes take your fancy. Platinum includes Be Active (sports teams… I guess?), and free tennis and squash. Silver is basically gold buuuut only before 3:15pm. Most classes are before 3:15pm. Shrewd. Very shrewd. And last but definitely least, Bronze, with gym and classes between 10:00am and 2:00pm. That’s when most people a) eat lunch or b) have some kind of lecture. Well played, gym.
So anyway, this morning I foolishly turned to Veronica and said the fateful words:
“Let’s go to the gym this afternoon.”
It started well; the walk downhill was easy enough, as downhill walks often are, and we managed to successfully walk down a flight of stairs and a car park. The path to the gym was also downhill. Narrowly avoiding construction workers, we entered the gym.
At which point it turned out I had forgotten to tick some box on my online application form. Oh, and the lady got confused and thought my membership had EXPIRED ALREADY. It hadn’t. Obviously.
She told me about how gyms work. It was reasonably self explanatory. i.e. it’s a gym, wear shoes, don’t dress like a prat, remember what you do when fire alarms go off, NO JEANS, don’t let people in if they don’t have gym membership.
I started with the bike, moving swiftly(ish) to the leg curl, followed by the cross-trainer, then some arm weights. That took me about 50 minutes. (I haven’t really done exercise in… um… a while?)
The hill was steeper than I remembered, and I was a gentle shade of crimson when I got back to my flat.